Their Young One Gone
by azkabcn
Summary: Nevada Watson-Holmes is only four years old. She is dying. At least she gets to spend her last five minutes with her two fathers. But for Sherlock and John, life is turned into insanity. Their only comfort in the many sleepless nights is each other. What if they are reduced now from two to one? One-shot. Parentlock.


I held John's hand tight as we sat in the plastic hospital chairs in the waiting room.

I was physically shaking – shaking with fear; shaking with anguish – but, like always, even though I was receiving stares from the other patients, I couldn't care less.

She was dying. Our young, four year old daughter was _dying_ and the doctors wouldn't let us in the room while they 'treated her'. God knows how long she had left. They had told us that she was in the last stage of her life but that they would try anything they could to save her.

I had long ago learned not to trust hospitals. I hated them. Couldn't stick them. I was only here for my Nevada. We adopted her three years ago; she was stuck with foster parents in her first year due to terribly neglectful biological parents.

I felt thankful to those idiots for acting the way they had. They had given us a wonderful daughter. But for how much longer I didn't know.

John's hand tightened around mine and I knew that he was in need of comfort too. Nevada was his daughter as well. Normally, I was great at hiding away my emotions but today, I had given in to everything that tugged at my heart. However, John always _felt_. He was terrible at concealing his feelings.

So I unhooked our hands, turned his so his palm was resting against my thigh and rubbed circles on the back of his hand with my thumb. It always calmed him down when he was agitated but today it wasn't helping.

He leant his head on my shoulder and whispered, 'Sherlock, is she going to be OK?'

I swallowed. 'I… I don't know, John,' I whispered back, my voice breaking.

'But can't you-'

'No, John.' I knew what he was asking. He was asking me to 'see and observe' the way I did at a crime scene. 'I can't. Not now.'

I felt the tears glazing my eyes so I closed them, leaned my head back against the wall and put one leg over the other.

Suddenly, a female voice broke through my thoughts. 'Mr Holmes? Dr Watson?' she asked. Her voice contained sorrow; I had a feeling I knew what she was going to say.

I opened my eyes to see Dr Elliot, the nurse that worked with the doctor treating Nevada. 'Yes,' John replied. I was shaking again. 'Is she alright?'

I saw her swallow, and I knew John and I both got the message. We were going to lose her.

'We have tried our best, but the tumour is too big. And it won't stop growing. I'm so sorry.' She sighed softly and looked away from us.

I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming. My heart shattered. My daughter was dying. 'Is... is she... dead...?' John managed to ask.

Dr Elliot shook her head. 'She has precisely six minutes. You can go and see her?'

I let go of John's hand and sprang up to my feet. 'Where is she?' I asked the nurse forcefully. 'Where is my daughter?'

'The children's ward, sir,' was all I heard before I started sprinting.

I ran as fast as I could, only slowing myself down when I reached a sign to give myself enough time to read it. I followed all the directions they were telling me and finally I ended up in front of a pair of double doors. Behind these laid the beginning of a life of despair, a life of unhappiness, a life of sorrow. I didn't want to open them. I didn't want to live this cruel, harsh reality.

But I knew I had to. My Nevada was in there.

John had caught up with me now. He laid his hand on my shoulder. 'I'll be beside you every minute, Sherlock,' he whispered delicately in my ear. 'We'll do this together. I promise you.' Then he took my hand and opened one of the doors.

The walls were painted a sky blue colour, with white, fluffy clouds and birds of all different colours. The way to encourage children and their families to be happy. I knew neither John nor I were happy. In this ward was our dying daughter.

I came to a stop at the start of the two rows of beds. My eyes scanned the room for her. Her sandy blonde hair that reached mid waist, her vivid emerald eyes that always proved that she was ours in everything but blood. The smile that was unique to her.

It was John who spotted her at the very end of the left row. He pulled the sleeve of my coat and sent us both into a sprint. We reached her bed, breathless.

The way her eyes lit up as she saw us would be forever etched into my brain as a poignant memory. 'Daddy! Papa!' she greeted us eagerly. I couldn't stop the smile or the glance at John. He smiled back, and I knew he was holding back bittersweet tears.

'Hi, darling,' I whispered, reaching forward to push her hair out of her face. She smiled.

'Hi, Papa,' she said. Her cheeks were pale; I didn't realise until that second how much I'd taken for granted the colour in her cheeks. It was too late now, though.

John walked round to the other side of the bed. 'Daddy,' she said, following him with her eyes.

'Yes, Baby Bear?' he replied, calling her by the nickname she held so dearly.

'Can you tell me another story from war?'

I chuckled. Nevada loved death as much as her parents. We'd even taken her to the morgue and she had squealed with excitement rather than cowering away with fear.

'Alright, Baby Bear,' he sighed. I could easily guess what he was thinking. That it was morbidly ironic that our daughter was asking for a story about death in her last... (I checked my watch) three and a half minutes of life.

John sat on the bed. Normally, when she asked for a story from either of us, we'd be quick to pull her into our lap. But now there were tubes sticking out of her and we didn't want to hurt her so he decided holding her hand would do.

'Well, there was that time when...' and off he went into one of his Tales of Torture, as I called them. The level of brutality in them was astonishing. Someone died every half an hour. They were murdered ruthlessly, they committed suicide, they were killed by manslaughter. I was just grateful that none of those involved my John.

Eventually, even before John's story reached its mid point, Nevada let out a tired yawn. One and a half minutes left. She slowly turned her head to me.

'Papa, can you play your violin so I can sleep, please?' she asked.

I felt a tug of my heart as I processed her request. She always slept as I played. It had become our nightly routine: first a Tale of Torture from John and then I would play my violin. I went over to her cupboard and took out my violin and bow. I was extremely relieved that I had left it here two days before.

'Are you comfortable, Baby Bear?' I asked her.

She wriggled around on the bed, slowly, for a second. 'Yup,' she said when she stopped moving.

I started playing. I played her most favourite song: one of my own compositions which I'd named 'As Time Slips Away'. I found it terribly fitting for the situation. I walked round to John's side after about twenty seconds of playing. Her eyes started drooping closed after a while. I paused for a second to look at my watch. Thirty seven seconds left. I played extremely quietly.

John gave her his nightly kiss on the cheek. 'Goodnight, Baby Bear. I love you,' he whispered against her hair.

It was my turn. I silenced my violin, put it down on the bed and swapped places with John. I tickled Nevada under the chin and said, 'Goodnight, my sweet little Baby Bear. I love you to the moon and back.'

She smiled. I stepped back so she could see both John and myself. She looked at John. 'I love you, Daddy,' she muttered sleepily. 'I love you, Papa.'

Her eyes closed and I gripped John's hand urgently. 'We love you, too,' we whispered together.

She breathed out and her chest stilled. Her heart stopped beating, stopped living.

Tears blurred my vision but this time I didn't stop them. I let them fall as I turned to John. I reached for him and we hugged each other hard. We cried silently, both of us holding nothing back.

I was faintly aware of the door opening and the gasp of a nurse, but I paid no attention to it whatsoever. Our Nevada was _gone_ and with her death, the minimal amount of the sanity that remained within us (let's face it: we were both pretty insane to begin with) fled too.

* * *

I stared at the ceiling in the middle of another restless night. John's arms were wrapped tightly around my middle and his head rested on my chest.

'Hey, Sherlock?' he whispered.

'Hmm?' I ran my fingers through his hair.

'Are we going to spend the rest of our nights not sleeping?' he asked.

I sighed. Three and a half weeks and still we hadn't slept at night. This was the longest I'd ever given in to emotion. The last time was three years ago, when Nevada Ellis became Nevada Watson-Holmes. I'd cried tears of elation that day. It had only lasted a few minutes or so.

I knew I never usually slept, but the tugging in my heart that happened every time I went past our Baby Bear's room was proof that I was still feeling. That I still hadn't gone back to being the cold hearted Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective.

'I'm not sure, love,' I said quietly. 'I hope not.'

Lestrade had given us some time off so we could get ourselves together again before we went back to solving crimes but now I was reluctant to go back to work. Death scared me now; what if someone else that I loved (read: John) got taken away from me too? How would I cope with the truth of it all? The truth that both my daughter's and husband's lives were short lived, that they were no longer with me?

'Hey, Sherlock, look,' John said suddenly.

I lifted my head to look at him. 'Yeah?'

'I'm not going anywhere, darling, OK?' he said, seeming to read my mind. He moved his head back to his own pillow. 'I'll be by your side until the rest of my days. I promise.'

'Good,' I replied. 'Then I promise the same thing.'

John took my hand and entwined it with his. 'I'm glad. I love you, Sherlock Holmes,' he whispered as his head fit into the crook of my neck.

I smiled lightly. My arm reached for the duvet and covered the both of us. I pulled John closer as I whispered, 'I love you, too, John Watson.'

We closed our eyes and even though it was terribly unlikely that we would fall asleep, the two of us fell silent. The only things that filled the room were the love we shared and the remorse in our hearts.

 **A/N: This fic was inspired by a fic in a different fandom – Winx Club: Stills and Photographs' Angel Wings (it's a great fic) and Coldplay's Fix You. Awesome song. Go and have a listen. Oh, and thanks for stopping by. It's appreciated.**


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